Bonds
by Laurie M
Summary: A short three-point riff around Jeff Goodwin's first day at the Royal.


_**Disclaimer:**_ I own none of the characters contained herein - I'm just playing with them.

* * *

_**Bonds**_

_1. Jeff_

The pub was busy but not overly-crowded. Jeff Goodwin slipped between knots of people, aware of the eyes on him and aware that most of them were labelling him Not From Around Here. Elsinby was a small town, should have been a shock to the system after Newcastle but he found himself liking it. Its smallness, he sensed, was liberating in its way: fewer places to hide; if you pretended to be anyone you were not, you were no-one at all. Freedom in that, even if it was hard won.

He made his way to the bar, tugged the wallet out of his pocket, looked up at the barman to catch his eye and found the barman already beaming in his direction, the very picture of a genial host.

'Evenin', Doc.' Jeff felt his own, automatic smile slip fractionally; it was both flattering and disconcerting to be so recognised but only a few seconds and the truth came: the barman was, indeed, looking in his direction, but addressing someone a few inches behind Jeff's left ear. 'Haven't seen you in here for a good while.'

'Haven't had the time for a good while. I could do with one of your pints, Mike.' A pleasant voice, one with an air of authority that was lightly worn. Someone accustomed to giving an order and having it obeyed - but giving it in the nicest possible way. The newcomer leaned against the bar, the collar of his trench-coat turned up and his face wearing the signs of strain. 'How's Angela?'

The barman made a face, eyes travelling upwards while he pulled the pint, thick cream swirling among the dark liquor. 'Oh, y'know, same as always.'

'I would know, if she kept her appointments.'

He was a big man to look so shame-faced but he glanced down, muttered his words to the bar-top and its polished patina of ring-marks. 'I do tell her- Put that away. Your money's no good here, you know that.'

'I would quibble... But you tell your wife to come and see me. This week.'

A placid grin. 'I'll tell her, Doc.' Jeff had an image of a small, wiry woman with bright eyes and a quick tongue who dominated this amiable man-mountain and he probably wouldn't have it any other way. Large hands clapped together briskly. 'Right, young man, what's yours?'

Jeff roused himself, pointed at the glass of dark ale that was gently settling. 'I'll have one of those.'

'Good choice.'

Jeff exchanged a glance with the man standing beside him, who immediately said, 'I'm sorry - I think you were actually here first.'

'Was I?' The man smiled and Jeff angled himself a little more towards him. 'You're a doctor?'

It was momentary, the wariness, the look of someone who had been collared too many times by too many people; the hesitation was pushed down and his expression was resigned. 'Yes.'

Jeff grinned back at him. 'Don't worry, I'm not going to present you with a list of symptoms - Doctor Jeff Goodwin.' He held out a hand and it was taken.

'Gordon Ormerod.' His new friend inspected him briefly, eyes narrowing a fraction as he took him in. 'You don't practice locally.' It wasn't a question.

'Is it that obvious?'

Gordon shrugged. 'It's a small place - most doctors in the area tend to know each other. Or, at least, of each other.'

'Well, I'm lately of Newcastle General.' He still felt a little light-headed saying it: the sense of freedom winning out only fractionally over blind fear.

'Oh? And where's your next post? If you don't mind my asking.'

The ale was deep and dark and hit his stomach like rocket-fuel. He braced himself against it and its wonderful warmth spread through him. 'I don't mind. And there isn't one. I resigned and- I hadn't really thought much past that.'

A pause, and he was inspected again. 'I see.'

Jeff wondered, still light-headed, if Gordon Ormerod bothered x-raying his patients, or if he just looked at them, the way he was looking at Jeff now, and took it from there. 'Are you in private practice?'

'No.' Almost vehement in the negation. 'I work at the Royal - St Aidan's Royal Free Hospital, to give it its full name.'

Jeff shook his head, apologetic, certain he could feel that heavy dark ale swill around inside his skull. 'Sorry, I've never heard of it.'

'Not many people have outside our little pocket of Yorkshire, really.' He sounded wistful. 'But the locals certainly keep us busy enough. It's a cottage hospital,' Gordon added, clarifying, and Jeff felt a flicker of interest.

They found their way to the snug, a place fully deserving of its name: one table, two chairs and a stool whose covering was badly frayed. More people had crowded in, the heat rising along with the noise; they all but shouted at each other to continue their conversation. Not really a conversation, Jeff realised after a time, more a one-sided declaration on Medicine As He Saw It. He was talking too much, forced himself to stop. He finished the dregs of his drink, smiled apologetically; Gordon was sitting forward slightly, his gaze intent and focused. The doctor was hesitating over something, then seemed to make up his mind.

'Look, I, uh- I don't suppose you'd fancy staying in Elsinby a while longer?'

'How long?'

'Indefinitely. I'd like to offer you a job at the Royal. A partnership.'

Jeff stared at him, waited for the laughter, for the joke to be revealed, but it didn't come and the gaze on him was still steady. Gordon Ormerod didn't seem like a madman or a drunk - he had barely touched the pint that had been quietly settling while they had been sitting there - but it had been twenty-five minutes since they had met and the man was offering him-

Everything.

'I know this is ... very sudden; and after Newcastle General I'm sure a cottage hospital is the last thing you'd want but I think you'd fit in very well here.'

Words had never been a problem for Jeff; he had a voice and no fear of making it heard but now, in this crowded pub with its blue haze of smoke, he had nothing to say.

'It is a lot of work and a lot of responsibility... And you would have to start immediately. Even sooner than that, if possible.'

Jeff was motionless, felt his face slack, certain that his expression was one of imbecility.

'There's accommodation, a flat in the nurses' home, if that sways you.' Gordon paused. 'That didn't come out quite the way I meant. But, uh... Are you interested?'

A little time to think, that was all he needed. He'd ask for a little time, get things straight, maybe they could have a meeting, a proper one, in the morning and Jeff opened his mouth to say all that but what came out instead was, 'Yes.'

* * *

_2. Jill_

She had spent the day oscillating between anger and guilt. Gordon could hire anyone he chose but he could at least ask her about it; even the pretence of valuing her opinion would be better than-

No. That would be worse.

And he was the last person to make rash decisions based on his own needs, she didn't require Mr Middleditch's gentle-but-firm reminder of that fact. It had made her feel cheap, her own words had made her feel cheap. She knew the strain he was under, knew his exhaustion, the deep etching of it in his body and head and heart, better than anyone.

She couldn't tell anyone that.

Jill wondered sometimes if, under similar circumstances, she would manage with the same grace and dignity and didn't really like to think about the answer. She wondered where he got the reserves of strength and patience from and knew what he told her, he got them from her, but she wasn't so sure of that. But she knew the way his face would change when he saw her and she knew the answering tightening around her heart, the rising in her body that she was sure would betray her, give both of them away.

But he still shouldn't start making decisions that would affect everyone.

What was even more infuriating, though, was when he was right.

The knock at her door was soon followed by one half of Gordon Ormerod and his expression was one of faint amusement. 'I understand you've welcomed Jeff into the practice.'

Jill rolled her eyes. 'If you've come to say "I told you so"...'

'The thought hadn't crossed my mind.' He smiled at her, completed his entry, closed the door and leaned against it. It was near impossible to stay angry, even annoyed, with Gordon; they joked, even Mr Rose joked, about Gordon and his charm, but it wasn't really a joke. She wondered if he really was as oblivious to the effect he had as he seemed. But then that lack of awareness was part of the charm.

He had his arms folded, watched her; Jill leaned back in her chair. 'You know, I always thought I was a fairly decent judge of character, but I am starting to wonder.'

'Oh?'

'Well, it took me a whole day to see in Jeff Goodwin what it took you half-an-hour.'

'Ah.' Gordon pushed himself away from the door, took the few steps that brought him closer to her. 'I think that was more luck than anything else. Truth is, he reminded me of someone.'

'Let me guess, you when you were his age,' she said, sardonic, her words pointed, sharpened, ready for a final show of a battle she didn't really feel like fighting.

'I'm not that old,' Gordon told her, all mock-indignation, but his eyes crinkled and there was a quirk around his lips when he said: 'Actually, he reminded me of you.'

'What?'

Another few paces and he sat on the edge of her desk; she stared up at him. 'I remember your second day here and you giving me a lecture in no uncertain terms about caring for the whole patient, not just the symptoms, about listening not just diagnosing...'

Jill lowered her head for a moment, looked up again, wry. 'And I was preaching to the choir, I know that.'

He took a moment and his eyes on her were soft and held a world of feeling, all the things she knew he thought of her, felt for her, had shown her even if he didn't quite say it, and she felt the burn across her cheeks.

'You had such passion, such clarity... I knew then that's exactly what we need here. I saw it in Jeff. It's a rare thing, you have to hold onto it while you can.'

It had been in David, too - his the unspoken name that hung in the air.

'I...' Jill looked down, stared for a moment at the hem of her skirt lying neatly across her knees. She looked back up at him. 'I am sorry, Gordon.'

'No need, that lecture was a long time ago now,' he said, his lips twitching, making fun of her in that gentle way he had, something that she never minded, not really, not from him.

'I should have trusted your judgement more instead of ... assuming.'

'Yes, you should,' his tone light, still teasing, but he leaned forward, stroking her face, his fingers following the curve of her cheek. 'After all, look how well you worked out.'

She laughed at that, rolling her eyes at him, and leaned into his touch.

* * *

_3. Gordon_

The Royal had reached its quiet time, the muted rush of early evening when the sounds of life always seemed to be coming from a few corridors away. Life wasn't something he associated with this particular corridor and he stopped suddenly when he saw Jeff Goodwin, halfway into a room, a look of intense surprised on his face. The younger man looked up when he heard footsteps, stepped back, puling the door shut and smiled widely.

'Sorry, I lost my bearings.' Gordon nodded walked a few steps beyond the closed door and Jeff followed him automatically, still glancing back over his shoulder. 'I wouldn't have thought a cottage hospital would run to an iron lung.'

'We wouldn't ordinarily.' Every part of him wanted to leave it at that, but the alternative was unfair to Jeff and he sucked in a breath. 'It was a coach crash. Her name is Caroline. She's my wife.'

He heard rather than saw the faltering step, pictured the way Jeff's cheery smile would stutter, slide from his face. He was tired, so tired, of people pitying him. 'You've had an eventful first day, I take it.' Jeff blinked at him, stared, mouth open slightly, blinked again.

'I, uh, yes...' A moment and Jeff's shoulders straightened; he glanced down at his tweed ensemble. 'There is a reason for this.'

Gordon smiled slightly. 'I don't doubt it.'

'Is everyone's first day this...'

'Weird?'

Jeff grinned. 'I was going to say memorable.'

'Well... It's not quite in the same league but on my first day I had a heavy cold; Doctor Alway - the senior partner at the time - thought I was here as a patient. He prescribed me a box of aspirin and a Fisherman's Friend.' He smiled at the memory.

Jeff winced. 'Did it work?'

'The aspirin did. I dispensed with the rest.'

They passed a few more words and Gordon watched the young doctor as he strode down the hall, holding his head high above his extraordinary shooting-suit. He had been right about Jeff, he knew that, and that Jeff had won Jill over on his own was more gratifying than anything he could have said to her himself.

When Jeff rounded the corner Gordon took another breath, re-traced his steps and pushed open the door to Caroline's room. He closed it, leaned his back against it for a long time.

Gordon hated this room. He hated the chintzy wallpaper and the flowers drooping in their small vase; he hated that damn machine and the laboured wheeze that pumped the oxygen in and out of her body. Sometimes he thought that he hated her.

No. No, he didn't mean that. He stared at her face, so pale, the muscles slack and starting to show signs of wasting. He pitied her, and most of the time the pity was abstract, something less than he would feel for a patient he barely knew.

It had been meant as a kindness, the iron lung, bringing her here, and he had been touched, genuinely, profoundly, by the evident affection that had motivated it, by their desire to give him comfort but he really wished that they hadn't bothered. It had been easier, fractionally, when she had been in Leeds. Her presence here contaminated everything. When he was with her it felt like a betrayal of Jill; when he thought of Jill he was aware, always, of Caroline and he thought of Jill constantly. The longing for her was a dull ache that covered his whole body; he needed her in ways of which he had never conceived needing another person.

That she loved him, that she was prepared to give him everything and ask for so very little in return, was an endless source of astonishment.

He had loved Caroline once, he knew that as a fact; although, the memories were so far away that he could no longer remember how it had felt. Gordon didn't think of himself as an unreasonable man but had he really made it so hard for her for say that simple thing that they had both known? It would have spared them all of this, the horror, her half-life and his own limbo of_ not knowing why_. Or maybe, like him, she had had no words to say; perhaps, after all the lies and the broken promises she had thought it a kindness to remove herself from his and their children's lives.

That he could remove himself as easily-

Hardly easily. He looked at her face again. Not really living, not quite dead. She didn't deserve that.

He wanted to leave this room and never come back. He wanted never again to see her face, sunken and ashen. He wanted Jill and the life and love and hope that she represented.

He took his usual seat at the head of this iron tyrant and began the habitual litany.

'The children send their love...'


End file.
